Scarlet Starlet
by Kunshi Sekijou
Summary: AU. One shot. The sparrow he locked away in his golden cage caught on fire and became a phoenix that incinerated him. Akaya x Fem!Yanagi.


**Disclaimer：Standard disclaimer applies.**

**A/N:** Inspired by Lana Del Rey's "Off to the Races." The title is derived from the lyrics.

**NOTES:** AU. Delusional!Akaya. Gangster!Akaya. Fem!Yanagi. Punching bag!Inui. Limited character development on Yanagi's part. Dark themes. Angst. Crude language. **NON-CON.** Akaya POV.

**Dedicated to a certain kouhai. Writing this would be so much harder if you (and your Yanagi-obsession)weren't around. :D**

**REVISED ON NOVEMBER 9th, 2014**

* * *

><p><strong>Scarlet Starlet<strong>

**[BGM:** Lana Del Rey - "Born to Die"**]**

Kirihara "Red Devil" Akaya prided himself on two things: the amount of women he'd slept with before reaching his current age of twenty and his superior memory.

His memory dug her up the moment she marched into the classroom like a star student determined to ace the course.

His eyes traced the familiarity in her features: her long, flowing auburn hair, neatly trimmed fringe, dark brows as delicate as the willow in her name, her turned-up nose, full, rosy lips. Her lithe, fragile, feminine figure contradicted her tough spirit. Her lidded eyes shielded her from the chaos of the world and built her soul a serene sanctuary.

The devil within him stirred his blood demanding his advance. It wouldn't be long.

That day, he climbed out of the chick pool he'd been swimming in for five years.

He approached her using the excuse that he needed class tutoring to rightfully seize her time.

She was aloof, guarded at first. No doubt the rumors the bees buzzed about him at school weren't exactly nice ones.  
>Time after time, he proved that he wanted nothing more than tutoring. And she let down her guard.<p>

Little did she know how special she appeared in his eyes. Her soft scent seduced him as the strongest aphrodisiac. He sank and floated listening to her calm, oceanic voice. She was his starlet and he let her live in the shrine of his heart for years.

Sooner or later, he learned the existence of her _megane_ boyfriend.

Like a gnat, the other's existence annoyed him. As a catalyst, the other's existence pleased him. The _megane _would help speed up the process, a process that, for a while, went nowhere.

He gathered some of his buddies to follow the couple after class one day.

The chase led to an ideal end. The crimson that spilled from the cuts and wounds of the other's body extinguished the flame of his jealousy.

He stole her away struggling in his arms.

That night, he snatched her virginity and her body wept blood in mourning. He cradled her rag doll body satisfied with the marks he mapped out on her fair skin.

He locked her up in his golden cage. She didn't wrestle with her invisible bonds; she didn't attempt an escape. For red was his name, but he was a master at black mailing.

...

Days later, he announced his achievement to his friend.

The other only clicked his tongue and blurted. "Didn't know you were into older women."

"I'm not." He frowned. "She's different. I don't like her because she's younger or older. Age has nothing to do with it."

"All right, man, don't get so defensive. Anyway, I don't think you should play her like that." Kuwahara, who others called "Jackal," warned him. "That Yanagi. She's not like the other girls."

"I know she's not like the other girls." Akaya said, sticking a cigarette between his lips. "Besides, whoever said I was playing her?"

He'd liked her for so long, as long as he could remember, not that he'll admit it to anyone because that's going to make him seem like a big pussy.

"You for real?" The darker youth gaped at him.

He said nothing, puffing away on his cigarette.

Feeling totally ignored, Jackal only sighed.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to congratulate you on finally making up your mind or if I should wish you good luck 'cause the road you're going down is going to be hell of a rocky one."

"Just congratulate me as the good buddy you are." Akaya smirked.

Jackal shrugged. "Yeah, sure, it's not like you'll accept anything else. But still, just be careful."

Years and years later, when Akaya remembered back to this certain conversation, he thought. Maybe he should have taken Jackal's warning a little more seriously.

...

Work suddenly seemed more meaningful after he picked her up as his girlfriend. He even cultivated a few extra hobbies.

He learned how his buddies spoiled their bitches and bought her tons of glittering jewelry, designer hand bags, and expensive dresses. He thought that would make her happy. He assumed she was when she accepted his luxurious gifts silently, smile shivering, spreading across her rosy lips.

He enjoyed watching her slip on the red dresses he'd bought her. He took delight in painting her naturally flawless face with cosmetics. He gladly allowed her to apply the lipstick that matched the color of her dress at a painstakingly slow speed. He examined her movements, her actions compulsively, obsessively, as if to make up for all the times he was unable to observe his mom like all the other average children have in their childhood. Subconsciously, he compensated for his past regrets.

Unfortunately, perfection required time. Though, it didn't really bother him too much to wait. Akaya knew it would all be worth it when she finished: her eyes cast to the floor, her long lashes hiding her mesmerizing amber eyes, her figure trembling and anticipating what came next in the sequence of events.

He forgot which famous somebody said that men liked giving clothes to their girlfriends because they want the privilege of taking them off.

It didn't matter. Who cares who said what as long as what's said is true?

He made a hobby of fucking her in the red dresses.

The scent of her perfume mingling with his sweat and the smell of their sex appealed to him like heaven.

Many times after sex, he'd cuddle her in the arms that were finally big and strong enough to protect something important to him. Then, he'd fill the seemingly comfortable silence with his own stories.

He'd lose track of time, and forget that maybe she was too tired or unwilling to hear what he wanted to say.

He'd tell her about his childhood mostly. About how his dad was a drunkard who beat him around the clock. How he'd survive in the slums stealing and cheating. How the life style he lived fucked up him so bad that he developed a split personality. How that split personality killed his old man. How he got tried at juvenile court, then got shipped off to an orphanage.

She always slept with her back turned to him. He'd always ask her if she remembered him when she volunteered at the orphanage he grew up in. But she never awoke to hug him and stroke his seaweed-like hair like she had done in the past to ensure him that she remembered him.

He said he was sorry. Even though no one had taught him, he had the faint idea that maybe he was loving her the wrong way. Too roughly. Too selfishly. He said he was sorry, but it was the only way how he knew to love. Through cheating and stealing.

He always buried his face into the nape of her neck and asked for her forgiveness. But she never awoke to tell him it was okay.

He always buried his face into the nape of her swan-like neck and asked her to teach him to be a better man. She never awoke to tell him, yes, like the countless times she agreed to tutor him for class.

Eventually, he stopped expecting replies. He stopped asking altogether.

...

He never considered himself the type to get nervous.

Anxiety was for people who had the luxury of time to doubt themselves.

Yet, once he scheduled his final trade, his last job, his palms turned cold and began sweating.

He took her down to the nearby bar, bought her a cocktail and himself a drink to let the alcohol calm his nerves before speaking.

He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to give her his promise.

The truth finally came stuttering out. But the other was too dazed from the booze to understand him.

He snorted inwardly. He felt himself to be so pathetic that he couldn't communicate the most important things to her when she wasn't drunk or asleep.

He drove out to watch the sunset with her that evening.

The rain came down abruptly and washed away his wish for a quiet and romantic evening.

"Goddamn it!" He pounded on the steering wheel as hard as the rain pounded on the windshield.

"I'm sorry I messed this up, baby." He apologized.

But she only stared. The glazed look in her eyes revealed her low defense against alcohol. With an unsteady hand, she undid her seat belt and pulled at the door handle.

He grabbed her wrist. "What are you doing? It's pouring out!"

She only shook him off and stepped outside into the rain. Wobbling, she lurched through the downpour.

Surprised, irritated, worried, he broke out of the car to chase after the runaway who sprinted away laughing as if enjoying a game of pursuit.

The rain seemed to have washed away the irritation. He gawked at her. She rarely smiled at him. Let alone laughed. Right then and there, he stopped giving a shit about how stupid they looked running down the shoulder of the deserted road like kids fifteen years younger than their age.

She looked like a fallen angel when he finally caught up to her. Even in her soaked, messy state, he still thought she looked like the most exquisite thing in the world.

That night, she surprised him once more when she cupped his face and kissed him hard on his mouth.

With her soft body brushing up against him, he restrained himself and fought with urge to stick his hands up her skirt. He let gentleness melt him, his last thoughts that if a couple of drinks did the trick so easily, he'd make sure to keep some around in the medicine cabinet.

That night, the usual silence set in after their heated sex. As he snuggled up against her closing his eyes and drifting to sleep, he thought he caught a wisp of air in his ear.

_"Don't go."_

But he dismissed it as a mere dream.

...

He never considered himself the type to get nervous.

Because greed and ambition murdered all the anxiety in his system since youth.

But, he had to admit, the fearless "Red Devil" was anxious tonight as he waited for his client with his gang. All the men stirring around him in boredom added to his irritation.

This was his final job, he thought.

After this job, he would never touch drugs; he'd even quit smoking. He'll become a man worthy of his starlet. He'll go to school, work hard to get a good education, and find a proper job that would support the two of them.

This was his final trade.

In the dark of midnight, he and his men waited for his final client in an abandoned parking lot.

Headlights appeared from the distance. They blinded him like his seemingly bright future as they drew nearer and nearer.

When the darkness dissipated altogether, he realized it wasn't his freedom that arrived, but imprisonment.

...

He wasn't afraid of going to court.

Having money easily solved a lot of problems. And he bought the best attorney for the occasion.

Yet, unfortunately for him, his money could not bribe the witness who testified against him.

She arrived in the courtroom, clad in black formal attire as if she was attending his funeral. She stood before the judge, her back as upright as the law that she served. Watching her, he remembered her strength. The strength that even his superior memory had forgotten all about because her fragile figure said otherwise.

She presented the solid evidence. The voice-recordings of him on the phone with his clients. The photographs of his previous trades.

He cut in before his star attorney could argue to the judge that the evidence could have been fabrications or alterations.

Akaya surrendered. He always gave her what she asked for. If she saw that he needed punishment, that he needed to be locked away as the devil that everyone accused him as, he would go with her wishes.

He always gave her what she asked for. Even if it meant giving away his freedom.

As the cops came to handcuff him and drag him away, he only looked to her seemingly fragile figure and wished she would turn around.

Take one look at him. That's all he needed.

But even that seemed too much to ask for.

...

Five years in prison for drug dealing.

It seemed like a long time. But he immediately forgot the torturous truth when he saw her face again. He disregarded the glass wall that separated them, prevented him from touching her.

He took one look at her plain attire and said,"You're a natural beauty and all, but why is it that you never use the stuff I buy for you?"

The glittering jewelry. The designer hand bags. The expensive dresses.

"Luxury is not a struggling college student's privilege." She said.

It took him a minute to register that she had sold the luxuries he'd bought her to fund her college education.

He wasn't mad. Well, maybe only a little. He was more impressed.

His starlet was a smart girl. The best of them all, after all.

"I just thought I would let you know. I never played hard to get." She said quietly. But the resentment in her voice was so loud that he thought he'd go deaf. "But since love is just a game to you, you must have thought as women, we don't convict to what we say...or don't say."

That's when he realized, all those times he complained about why she couldn't be like all the other girls he dated and tell him how much she loved him and adored him... It was because she really didn't love him.

Now that he thought back, the corners of her lips only curled up slightly, briefly when she asked him for expensive luxuries. Other than that, living with her might as well be living in a damn igloo. He couldn't hate her for using him, for plotting against him because he let himself be used.

"Thank you for letting me realize my potential as a prostitute." She let her sarcasm bid him farewell.

Akaya never saw her again after that. Though he liked deceiving himself into thinking that she'll think of him, think of how good he had been to her, that she'll miss him, and eventually, come to see him again.

Meanwhile, he bragged to his inmates about how he had a hot girlfriend waiting for him once he got out. Saying, he would whip out and show off the now crumpled photo they took as a couple—the photo he used to put in his wallet. They ogled at the beauty in the photo, begged and resorted to using violence to take a closer look, and to use it to get off.

He fought wildly to defend his property, the only personal belonging that he had left after getting his ass locked up in jail.

He fought, like a caged animal struggling, because that was the only way to remember he still craved for freedom and control.

At night, lying on the squeaky bunk bed, he'd peer at his battered trophy through swollen eyelids, fingers wiping furiously at its fading surface to clean her face of his blood.

He was never the religious kind of guy. But he started praying wholeheartedly every night to the Almighty who abandoned him ever since his birth to give him another chance to be a better man.

And he swore he would treat her more nicely.

**[END BGM:** Fall Out Boy - "Just One Yesterday"**]**


End file.
